


Jonquil

by kitkatkaylie



Series: Theonsa Week 2021 [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kisses, Theonsa Week, so sweet it might give you cavities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: The excited shrieks of children echoed around the Godswood as he took his morning walk, the children playing with glee in the mud and splashing in puddles as it was finally warm enough for them to do so. It was a happy sound, a glad sound, and it made Theon smile to hear it. Too long had there been a lack of laughter in Winterfell.For the prompt: Spring
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Series: Theonsa Week 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197584
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: Theonsa Week





	Jonquil

There was a sweet scent upon the air, of fresh green things, of new life, of  _ hope. _

It was the sort of scent that made everyone walk a little easier. A reminder that the Winter was over, that they had survived. It was a sign of longer, warmer days. Of the sun shining, and not having to tighten belts for much longer.

It was the scent of Spring.

Buds had started to appear upon trees, and shoots had started to emerge from the ground. Their green heads poked bravely from the soil that mere months before had been watered with the blood of battle. 

It was almost possible to forget that myriad of battles that Winterfell had seen with the signs of spring everywhere, almost possible to forget the deaths and destruction that had occurred.

Even the blackened stones that still remained from the Boltons betrayal seemed softened in the spring sunlight, even the dragon skull that had been placed as a memorial for the Battle for the Dawn and the Massacre of Kings Landing seemed gentler surrounded by growing things. Soon, Theon was sure, there would be posies of flowers and herbs left around the memorial, to honour those who had been lost to the Night King or Dragon Queen.

The excited shrieks of children echoed around the Godswood as he took his morning walk, the children playing with glee in the mud and splashing in puddles as it was finally warm enough for them to do so. It was a happy sound, a glad sound, and it made Theon smile to hear it. Too long had there been a lack of laughter in Winterfell.

A splash of colour caught his eye as he walked, a bright yellow, glorious against the dark, loamy soil. The first daffodils of the season, small and bright and cheerful. 

They were a smaller species, delicate almost, growing in a clump. There was a vague memory in the back of his mind of Sansa, and Jeyne Poole, and Beth Cassel, all three of them planting a myriad of bulbs in the godswood, and hoping for a riot of jonquils to emerge so that they might bedeck themselves like the Jonquil of the song.

There would be more growing soon, more peaking their heads out and cheering the land. It would not matter if he picked the first few, surely, not when it would enable him to let Sansa fulfill a childhood dream. 

His mind was made up, and with the small knife that he kept upon his belt, Theon carefully cut a few of the blooms and wrapped them gently in one of the handkerchiefs that Sansa had so lovingly embroidered for him and insisted he always carried. 

Theon liked having a handkerchief, it was something Reek had always been forbidden, it was something small that reminded him who he truly was. Especially when they were embroidered with krakens and wolves, a truly visual reminder of his place and identity. 

He held the flowers carefully as he made his way back inside and up to Sansa’s solar. The adoring looks he received from some of the small folk still made him cringe, he felt unworthy of their stares, and yet as Sansa pointed out he had been the one to save Bran. He had saved her as well, and the people did so love their Queen. He would have found it easier to bear if they looked upon him with the scorn he felt he deserved, the scorn that should have been heaped upon him for making Bran and Rickon flee, for betraying Robb, for being the reason the Boltons had held Winterfell in the first place. But the small folk did not think so, and no matter how much he protested they were not going to change their minds. 

He did not have to knock before entering, Sansa had been clear on that, and yet he still did. He did not want to disturb her, not if she was doing something of far greater importance than any of his worries or concerns. Sansa would disagree with that line of thinking, she said his worries were the most important thing because they were  _ his. _

“I have a gift for you, my love.” He said, after she bade him enter.

“Theon!” Sansa looked up with the sweetest of grins, “You know you don’t have to knock! How many times must I tell you?”

“At least once more.” Theon grinned at her, “Is now a good time to give you your gift? You aren’t too busy?”

“I am never too busy for you, dear heart.” Sansa stood, and rounded her desk to his side. “What was it you wanted to give me? A kiss perchance?”

Theon looked down, suddenly bashful, he did not want her to think his idea silly. “I am always willing to give you all the kisses your heart might desire,” He said, “But this is something different. Something better, a surprise.”

“A surprise?” 

“Aye. Sit down where I can reach your hair.”

Sansa smiled at him, and settled down in one of the overstuffed chairs so that he could do so. She trusted him so much, and it warmed his heart greatly.

His fingers were stiff, and not as nimble as they once had been, but they could still run through her hair with ease. Gently he unwound her braids, massaging her scalp as he did so, until she was as relaxed as she would ever be and her eyes were drifting closed.

Carefully he started to rebraid her hair, calling upon every lesson he had ever had in the art to make it as perfect as possible. Braids his mother had taught him sat next to ones that Sansa had, next to the Riverlands twist taught to him and Robb by Patrek Mallister one tone on the eve of a battle, next to a braid that Yara had shown him to still the trembling of his fingers. It was intricate and beautiful. It was an amalgamation of everything and everyone who made him  _ Theon _ .

He fell into a soothing rhythm, focusing purely on not tugging her hair painfully and on creating the vision he wanted to achieve.

Finally, once the braids were in place, he started to add the daffodils. Each one was carefully threaded in, and placed so that it complemented the braids rather than overpowered them. When the last one was slipped into place he bade Sansa stand, but keep her eyes shut long enough that he could lead her to a mirror.

“Come,” He said, gently pulling her by the hand, “Come and see your gift.”

There was a small mirror in the corner of Sansa’s solar, something he would have laughed about at one point, something he once would have said was a meaningless luxury, but that was before he had learnt just how important Sansa’s image was to her reign. It was a message he had not truly realised, until Sansa had appeared to one council meeting with her hair frizzing out of its plaits and a mass panic had ensued. 

“What do you think?” He asked quietly, signalling to her to open her eyes.

Sansa gasped, and to Theon’s horror tears started to fill her eyes, he worried for a moment if he had done something wrong. 

“Theon.” Sansa choked out, “Oh, Theon, it’s beautiful!”

All of Theon’s worry dissipated, he had made her happy. 

“Would the fair maiden Jonquil like to dance with her poor fool?” Theon held out his hand with a grand flourish.

Sansa giggled and took his hand, “I would be honoured, Ser Florian.”

Theon pulled her closer to him and together that span and span until they were almost crying from laughing so hard. There was no music, but that did not matter. They did not need music, not when they had each other, and the beat of their hearts.

“I love you.” Sansa whispered once they had slowed down, pressing her forehead against his, “Thank you for this.”

Theon pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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